


We're Alive, Alive (We're Aviation High)

by amberdowny



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Fluff, Future Fic, Harry speaks french, M/M, Paris (City), Pre-Relationship, and there aren't always translations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberdowny/pseuds/amberdowny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So what brings you to my shop, Lewis?”  Harry half-turns away and begins watering the plants at last.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Louis gracefully ignores the dig, then says, “I’ve been travelling, and today is my first full day in Paris.  I’m staying at the hostel just down the street there.  And, I dunno, I was just passing by and the colours caught my eye.”  He shrugs.  “I don’t know much about flowers.  Or have any occasion to buy them.  Anymore.”  He hopes his attempt at a smile isn’t too bitter.</i>
</p>
<p>Or, to quote the prompt: "Louis is getting over a nasty breakup, and decides to go traveling. In one of the cities, he finds a beautiful flower shop with an even more beautiful owner, and decides to stay in said city."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Alive, Alive (We're Aviation High)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/gifts).



> This was fun! Thank you, midnights, for the awesome prompt which made me rediscover my love of Paris and bring out my rusty French skills. Who would have thought I'd need to do so much research on places I've actually been to? 
> 
> Also thank you to N, who put up with me while I did the writing and researching and procrastinating. I love you.
> 
> 4/5 images used in this fic are my personal photographs; unfortunately I've never met Harry in front of the Eiffel Tower, that one I found online.

Louis isn’t sure why he pauses outside the little flower shop. He’s never been particularly interested in flowers. The door is open invitingly, and Louis can see all kinds of unfamiliar flora inside. The plants spill out onto the sidewalk, a splash of colour on the grey Paris streets. Louis is particularly drawn to a hanging plant with orangey-red blossoms. He leans in to sniff at the petals, letting his eyes fall shut.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” a slow, deep voice greets him, and Louis’s eyes fly open as he jerks away from the flower.

“Er, _bonjour_ ,” Louis manages to say back. He glances over at the owner of the voice and finds a boy with friendly green eyes, chocolate curls, and a cheeky smile, complete with dimples, holding a watering can.

“ _Qu’est-ce que vous voudriez trouvez aujourd’hui? L’aventure? L’amour? Les fleurs?_ ”

Oh boy. “Er, I--shit, I mean, _je_ …” Louis fumbles, frantically trying to translate the question he’d just been asked. There was something about today, and love, and flowers…maybe he was asking if he liked the flowers? Louis figures he’ll be safe if he says that everything is beautiful. That way, even if that wasn’t even the question, at least he’s paid the shop a compliment. “Um, _tout est belle_.”

The other boy laughs, then asks, “English?”

“Please,” Louis says, a little too desperately.

“All right. What were you trying to say?”

Louis shrugs. “Er, I wasn’t really sure what you asked me, so I thought I’d just say that everything looks great.”

“Ohh. _Tout_. I thought you said _tu_.”

Louis is officially lost. “I, er, did?”

The other boy shakes his head and laughs again. “Never mind. I asked you what you were looking for today. My name’s Harry.”

“That’s not a very French name,” Louis blurts out.

Harry grins. “Good thing I’m not very French then.”

Louis stares. “You’re not?”

“God, no. I’m just as English as you are. Couldn’t you tell by my horrendous accent? All the locals tease me about my pronunciation.”

Louis shrugs. “You sounded good to me. But then, I don’t actually speak French.”

“No fucking way. Really?”

Louis scowls. “Oh, shut up, Harold.”

Harry just keeps grinning. “Not my name. And speaking of names…what’s yours?”

“Louis.”

“That is a very French name,” Harry says.

Louis shrugs. “I guess it is.”

“So what brings you to my shop, Lewis?” Harry half-turns away and begins watering the plants at last.

Louis gracefully ignores the dig, then says, “I’ve been travelling, and today is my first full day in Paris. I’m staying at the hostel just down the street there. And, I dunno, I was just passing by and the colours caught my eye.” He shrugs. “I don’t know much about flowers. Or have any occasion to buy them. Anymore.” He hopes his attempt at a smile isn’t too bitter.

Harry pauses in his watering, a small frown creasing his forehead. “ _Attendez._ Wait here.” He disappears inside the shop and returns a moment later with a single rose. It’s lavender in colour, and the thorns have already been cut from the stem. “Why not buy yourself flowers?” Harry suggests. “This one is on the house.” He presents the rose to Louis with a little flourish. 

Louis takes it, twirls it between his fingers for a moment, and then brings it to his nose. It’s lovely, and the sentiment is lovely, and Harry is lovely. “Thank you,” he says. He’s not really sure where to put it, not used to being presented with roses. He switches it from his right hand to his left, and then back. Finally, he looks up from the petals to see Harry watching him with amusement.

“Do you need help?” Harry asks.

Louis pouts at him. “No. I totally know what I'm doing with. Flowers and stuff.”

Harry chuckles, then plucks the rose from Louis's hand. “Here.” He deftly snaps the stem, so it's much shorter, and then steps forward and puts it through the top buttonhole on Louis's denim jacket, as a sort of boutonniere. "Traditionally, of course, you would wear a flower with a suit jacket, not a denim one. But I don't see why we can't take liberties with fashion.”

“I can see that,” Louis says, gesturing to Harry's flamingo-printed shirt. “Um, anyway, thank you for the flower. I should be going though, and let you get back to work.”

“It was my pleasure,” Harry says. 

Louis leaves Harry with a smile and a wave, then continues down the street towards the metro station, fingering the rose absently as he walks.

He manages to make his way to Montmartre, thanking whoever may be listening that the metro lines are numbered and colour-coded, so he doesn't have to ask for help with his frankly embarrassing French skills. From the metro station, it's easy to find his way to the basilica, despite the crowds and the colourful displays of street vendors.

Standing at the bottom of the incredibly daunting steps up to the Sacré-Coeur basilica itself, Louis wonders fleetingly if it'll really be worth it to walk all the way up there. He shakes off his laziness pretty quickly, though. He plays footie on some weekends with Liam and Niall and the other lads, he's in shape, it won't be too bad.

As Louis pauses on the stairs a little while later, he finds himself withdrawing that statement. He's definitely not as in shape as he thought he was. He’s nearly there, though. He allows himself to rest for a moment longer, just long enough to pull out his mobile and snap a picture of the Sacré-Coeur (after dismissing the warning that his mobile’s battery is running low; he forgot to charge it the previous night) before he continues on. 

When he reaches the top, he looks up at the great church before him. It's beautiful, all white stone and incredible architecture, two green statues of men on horses guarding the front, but it's not why he hiked up here. He makes his way though the many tourists bustling around, all speaking their own languages loudly and excitedly until he finds a relatively empty spot to sit down and rest his legs. Then he looks, not at the Sacré-Coeur, but back in the direction he'd come from.

It's absolutely stunning. The city of Paris is spread out below him, as far as he can see. From here, the highest point in the city, he can see everything from the Eiffel Tower to the Arc de Triomphe. Louis lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, breathes deeply, and opens his eyes as he exhales. He feels very small, and he loves it.

This is why he left England. This is why he set out for new cities and new sights. Here, he's anonymous, just one person in the whole city of people. No one here knows he's just coming out of a long term relationship. No one knows that he thought his life would revolve around the two of them, and no one knows that he's not sure what to do with himself now that he knows it's not going to. No one knows, and no one cares, and Louis doesn't have to deal with concerned inquiries about his well being when he's just trying to pull himself back together. Here, he can lose himself before he has to find himself again. 

Here, there are no familiar places to bring back memories with a glance. He can go out for lunch without remembering that time they got caught in a downpour and had to eat their fish and chips while they dripped all over the floor. He can go see a movie without remembering their first date and the tentative way they held hands over the popcorn. He can stop at a flower shop and talk to a pretty boy without remembering the bouquet he’d had to get the clerk to help him pick out for their third anniversary. Here, everything is brand new and all his to discover and remember the way he wants.

Louis stays a bit longer, then heads back down. The stairs aren’t nearly as bad going this way, so Louis decides to walk for awhile when he reaches the bottom, maybe find something to eat and explore the area. There’s always the chance that he’ll get lost, but he knows he’s staying in the Oops! Hostel and he knows it’s in the 13th arrondissement. Even if he can’t communicate anything else, Louis figures he can manage to say, “ _Métro_?” in a quizzical tone of voice and get pointed towards the nearest station, and from there he can get back to the stop closest to his hostel. He’s not worried.

Louis walks past the vendors selling their wares, and the hustle and bustle around the basilica, and even though there are still tons of tourists everywhere, the crowd thins out considerably and it’s easier to breathe but still easy to get lost in them. Finally, Louis finds himself across the street from the Moulin Rouge, and he can’t help but take out his mobile again to snap another picture, once more dismissing the low battery warning. 

Humming something that might be “Come What May,” under his breath, Louis heads back the way he came. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and he’s sure he’ll be fine, but he doesn’t want to wander too far into the Red Light District all the same. 

Finally, Louis finds a little _boulangerie_ and goes inside. He inhales deeply, appreciatively, enjoying the baking bread smell, and joins the short queue, grateful for the time to figure out what he wants and how to ask for it. 

A few moments later, Louis is leaving the shop with a _jambon buerre_ in his hand, and only minimal embarrassment over the woman in the shop patiently listening to his fumbling French. Louis isn’t totally sure if he’s going to like it, but as he takes his first bite, his reservations disappear. It’s a simple sandwich, just ham and butter on half a baguette, but something about the slight saltiness of the ham combined with the slight sweetness of the butter and the fantastic bread is infinitely satisfying. In fact, Louis is tempted to take a picture of the sandwich, too, even though he normally scoffs at Instagrammed meals. He goes so far as to take his mobile out again, but there’s no response when he presses the home button; the battery has finally died.

Uneasy about being in a foreign country without even a mobile, Louis decides to head back to the hostel so that he can charge it for at least a little while before he heads out again. So, still munching on his sandwich, Louis finds the nearest metro station and navigates back to the stop close to his hostel. 

The door to the flower shop is still propped open when Louis passes it again. Louis fingers the rose still on his lapel, which is starting to droop now that it’s been there a few hours. Then, ignoring the voice in his head telling him it’s a bad idea, Louis heads inside the shop. The moment he steps over the threshold, he’s assaulted by the scents of all the different flowers mingling together. It’s overpowering, cloying, almost nauseating for a moment as he gets used to it. When he feels like he can move again, he ventures further into the shop, ostensibly looking at the flowers, but of course he’s actually looking for Harry.

He finds him at the back, standing behind the counter and talking on the mobile. “ _Oui, c’est possible, mais les roses jaunes peuvent symboliser la jalousie et la trahison. Pour un mariage….oui. Oui. Bien. Merci._ ”

Harry hangs up the mobile, then looks up. “Louis!” he says warmly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis says back, shuffling his feet a little. He’s really not sure why he came in here.

“So you could only take a half-day of sight seeing?” Harry teases.

Louis shrugs. “I could have taken more. My mobile’s a different story.”

“Ah,” Harry says. “I see. So what sights did you see so far today?”

“Well,” Louis begins, “The Sacré-Coeur--”

“Did you walk or take the tram?” Harry interrupts.

“Walked, of course. And I’m sure I’ll still be feeling it all the way in Venice in a few days. But anyway, then I walked around a bit and accidentally found the Moulin Rouge. And er, that was when I realised my mobile battery was dead.”

Harry seems genuinely shocked when he says, “You haven’t been to _la Tour Eiffel_ yet? I thought that was always everyone’s first stop.”

Louis shrugs. “Well, I can see it from just about anywhere, really. I wasn’t in a hurry.”

Harry shakes his head. “We need to fix this. I suppose you haven’t been to the Louvre, either, right?”

It’s Louis’ turn to shake his head. “No. And I’m kind of travelling on a budget, I need to choose my tourist activities wisely.”

“The Louvre has free admission the first Sunday of the month,” Harry offers. “It’ll be free this coming Sunday.”

It’s Tuesday now. And Louis is supposed to be in Barcelona on Friday. “I won’t be here on Sunday,” he says regretfully. “I’m leaving Friday morning for Barcelona.”

Harry’s face falls a bit. “Right. Well. Like you said, _la Tour Eiffel_ is there anytime. So let me take you tonight?”

“Tonight?” Louis repeats. “Not today?” Vaguely, he’s aware that he ought to be questioning Harry taking him at all, not only the proposed time, but he likes Harry already, and he can’t help but trust him. A bad person wouldn’t take such good care of flowers, Louis decides, a bit irrationally, but there you go.

“No, it’s much better at night,” Harry says. “Paris is beautiful all lit up below you. And the tower itself is beautiful all lit up, too.”

“Well…all right,” Louis decides. “That sounds nice, actually. You’ll be like my own personal tour guide.”

Harry grins at him. “At your service,” he says. “Do you want to meet me here at…say eight-thirty? It should be starting to get dark about then.” 

“That sounds great,” Louis says. “See you then, Harry. I’ll let you get back to work now. Those yellow roses for the wedding need you.”

Harry seems amused when he says, “You didn’t catch much of that conversation either, did you?”

“Er…not really,” Louis admits. “I caught the yellow roses for a wedding bit, not the rest.”

Harry shakes his head fondly. “I was telling her that yellow roses aren’t suited for a wedding, because they symbolise jealousy and betrayal. Among other things, actually, but I thought for a wedding they ought to have flowers that only symbolise good things.”

“Like what? Red?”

Harry nods. “Or orange if they want to be less clichéd. Orange symbolises desire and passion.”

“How do you know all this? I mean, it’s not a requirement to work in a flower shop, is it?”

Harry laughs. “No, I just think it’s interesting. I’ve always liked the idea of sending hidden messages in a bouquet of flowers.”

Louis glances down again at the rose Harry had given him that morning. “So what does purple mean?”

“Lavender,” Harry corrects. “Learn your shades, Lewis.”

“I’m sorry, we can’t all be master florists.”

“You don’t have to know anything about flowers to know colours, you know,” Harry points out.

“Ugh, whatever, Harold. I’ll see you at half eight, yeah?”

Harry waves as Louis leaves the shop. It’s only when Louis is already halfway back to his hostel that he realises Harry never actually answered the question.

After stopping in his room to charge his mobile for a couple hours, and to remove the wilting rose so he can save it before it‘s completely demolished, Louis spends the rest of the afternoon exploring the area around his hostel. He doesn’t want to travel too far and risk getting lost and being late to meet Harry, or worse, missing him completely. Finally, about fifteen minutes past eight, Louis heads to the flower shop.

When Louis arrives at the flower shop, he finds Harry standing out front, waiting for him. He breaks into a smile when he sees Louis approaching, and holds out a new flower. This one is another rose, bright blue. Louis accepts it, and expertly threads it through his buttonhole.

“What does this one mean, then?” he asks Harry.

“Well, blue roses don't exist in nature. This one has been dyed. So blue roses symbolise mystery, among other things.”

“I like it,” Louis declares. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The pair walks to the metro station in companionable silence. As they’re descending underground, Harry says, “I should warn you about something.”

“Go on,” Louis says as they reach their platform, a bit wary of whatever Harry is about to say.

“Well, there are loads of people trying to sell you things when you walk across the _Champ de Mars_ ,” Harry says as they lean against a wall to wait for their train. “Like, illegal street vendors with Eiffel Tower key chains, that sort of thing. They’re quite annoying and can be intimidating, so I just wanted to prepare you. If you ignore them, you should be fine.”

The train arrives and they gather with the other people waiting to board. “Okay,” Louis says. “Thanks for the warning, I guess.”

“But it’s worth it, I promise,” Harry hurries to say. “I don’t want to dissuade you at all. It’s going to be brilliant.”

They find places to stand at the rear of the compartment, and Louis asks, “How long have you lived in Paris?”

“Since I was eighteen,” Harry replies. “So five years now. I came to visit, fell in love with the city, and just…never left.” He shrugs, then nearly topples into Louis as the train stops at another station. “And you?” he asks, righting himself. “What brings you to the City of Love?”

Louis winces. “Er, kind of the opposite of love. I just ended a long-term relationship, actually. And I was moping around town, hoping I wouldn’t run into him, not able to go anywhere without remembering a hundred times I went there with him. And I always wanted to travel, so I figured…why not, you know?” More passengers board the train, and it takes off again. “I planned a few days in Paris, then on to Venice, Barcelona--a proper Euro-trip, like.”

“Oh.” Harry is silent for a moment, then says, “I hope this doesn’t sound too creepy, but, y’know, he was mad to give you up.”

“It wasn’t really like that,” Louis says. “He cheated on me. I was the one who broke up with him.”

Harry shakes his head. “Like I said. Mad.”

“Does your family live in Paris too?” Louis asks, changing the subject.

“No,” Harry says, and then he launches into an explanation of his family, complete with several anecdotes about his older sister Gemma, his mum Anne and his step dad Robin. Harry talks animatedly, swaying with the motion of the train, and nearly falling into Louis three more times as they stop and then depart from several more stations. Then Louis takes his turn telling Harry about his family, which somehow takes less time even with all the extra siblings he has. 

“You’re so lucky to have so many sisters,” Harry says. “And a baby brother and sister! I love babies.”

“They’re not so baby anymore,” Louis corrects. “They’re three.”

“Aww. I love kids that age.”

Louis laughs. “Are you sure you don’t just love all children?”

“It’s true,” Harry admits. The train slows again, and Harry nudges Louis. “Come on, this is us.”

They get off the train, along with most of the other passengers, and make their way out of the station. Once they emerge onto the street level, Louis can see the Eiffel Tower lit up in the distance. It’s beautiful, glowing gold against the inky sky, and Louis murmurs, “Wow,” under his breath, pausing to take a picture.

Harry grins at him as they start walking towards it. “I told you,” he says. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket to check the time. “Five of,” he says. “Perfect timing.”

“For what?” Louis asks.

Harry glances at him. “Our lift tickets are for nine fifteen,” he says, though he glances away halfway through the sentence. Louis isn’t sure he’s telling the whole truth, but--

“You already got our tickets?”

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I asked you, so I figured I ought to pay. Plus, this way we can skip the queue for tickets and go straight to the queue for the lifts.”

“Well, alright,” Louis says. “But I’m buying you dinner.”

“Are we having dinner?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Yes. We are. Because I need to buy it for you.”

“Well, alright,” Harry repeats, grinning. 

They reach the Champ de Mars, and Louis sees what Harry meant about the illegal vendors. They really are everywhere. Louis inches closer to Harry, just in case. Harry glances down at him, and Louis is suddenly struck by how tall Harry is and how short he himself is in comparison.

“Hi,” Louis says, a little stupidly.

“Hi,” Harry says back.

Louis is about to say more, but suddenly the Eiffel Tower starts _twinkling_ , and a collective gasp rises from everyone around them. 

It was beautiful before, with its golden glow, but the lights flashing and glittering are stunning. Louis never realized the Tower did this, and he just stares, mesmerized, for half a minute.

“It’s beautiful,” he finally manages to say. “Does this happen every night?”

“Every hour, on the hour, for five minutes,” Harry confirms, and Louis suddenly realises that Harry isn‘t looking at the Eiffel Tower at all, but has turned so that he can watch him. “I could tell you didn’t know this was going to happen though, so I didn’t tell you. I wanted to see this reaction right here.”

“Thank you, Hazza,” Louis says. He pulls out his mobile to snap a picture while the lights are still twinkling. Harry is in it too, but Louis doesn’t mind. 

“Come on,” Harry says when Louis has put his mobile back in his pocket. “We really do have to get to the lifts for nine fifteen. He holds his hand out to Louis, and Louis takes it. They start out just walking hand in hand, but soon they’re running, sometimes with Harry pulling Louis along, and sometimes Louis pulling Harry, laughing, through clusters of tourists and weaving between vendors.

_This_ , Louis thinks, running beside Harry with the Eiffel Tower twinkling before them, _This is why I came to Paris._ He never wants to forget tonight.

They arrive at the base of the tower with a few minutes to spare, and, panting, join the queue. Soon, they’re in the lift with a group of other people, all talking excitedly amongst themselves in French, and English, and German, and even something Louis thinks might be Chinese. Louis doesn’t understand half of what they’re saying, but he can feel the excitement, and it’s infectious. 

“The view must be fantastic from the top,” he says. “We are going all the way up, aren’t we?”

Harry nods. “Of course we are. We have to switch to a smaller lift on the second floor, but then we’ll be at the top. The second level is all glassed in, did you know that? But the top level is open. Well, there’s a barrier of course.”

“I didn’t know that,” Louis says. “I’m glad we’re going to the top, then.”

“It’s going to be windy,” Harry warns. 

Louis laughs. “You think a little wind is going to bother me? I’m in Paris on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Nothing could bother me.”

The lift stops then, and everyone exits. Louis rushes over to look out the glass at the view from halfway up the Eiffel Tower, Harry following behind him more sedately. It’s not much different than looking out a window of a tall building, Louis realises with some disappointment, and it’s hard to see much with the glare from the lights. But it’s in _Paris_ so it’s automatically much more exciting.

When Louis gets bored of looking out at the city from behind glass, he turns back around to examine their surroundings. “There’s like, shops and restaurants up here,” he says with some surprise.

Harry nods. “Yeah. They’re quite expensive though. But, hey, there was a writer, Guy de Maupassant, who hated the Eiffel Tower. He thought it was ugly; lots of people did when it was built. Anyway, he ate lunch everyday at one of the restaurants up here, but everyone knew that he hated it. So when they asked him why he ate lunch here everyday, he said, ‘because it’s the only place in the city I can eat lunch without having to look at this damn tower.’”

Louis laughs. “Seriously?”

“Well, so they say,” Harry says. “Come on, let’s go up to the top.”

They take the lift to the third floor. As soon as they exit the lift, a gust of wind blows Harry’s hair into Louis’ face. 

“I see what you meant about it being windy,” Louis says, picking a few strands of Harry’s hair from his mouth.

Harry laughs and pulls his hair up into a messy bun with the tie around his wrist. “And does it bother you?”

“Nope.” Louis goes over to the very edge to get the best possible view. It’s absolutely incredible. The whole city of Paris is lit up below him, the roads transformed into yellow ribbons of light from the headlamps of hundreds of cars. The buildings are marked by scattered pinpricks of light, as though glitter had been spilled over the city. The Seine cuts a dark path through the light, while reflecting some of it back, dividing the Right and Left Banks. Louis takes a photo, but it doesn’t really come out. He doesn’t try again. He knows that no image, no matter how high quality, can ever capture this moment and the way he feels right now.

Harry steps up behind Louis and hooks his chin over his shoulder. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” he says.

“Yes,” Louis breathes. “Thank you so much, Hazza, for bringing me here.”

“It was my pleasure. I know it’s a tourist spot and all, but this might be my favourite place in the whole city.”

“I can see why.”

Another gust of wind blows through, and the two of them both hunch into each other to protect against the worst of it. The rose in Louis’ jacket gets blown loose, and he quickly stoops to rescue it from the floor. He makes to replace it in his button hole, then pauses and looks at it, considering. “I have this crazy urge to throw this from up here,” Louis tells Harry. “I know a paper airplane is traditional, and I think throwing anything might be illegal, but--you wouldn’t be offended, would you? I’m keeping the other one you gave me, I’m not sure how to keep a rose, but--”

“Hang it upside down to dry, or press it between the pages of a heavy book,” Harry says. “And no, I won’t be offended. Blue roses also symbolise attaining the impossible, and it seems like you can up here, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Louis says. “Yes, that’s exactly it.” He puts his hand through a gap in the barrier, and tosses the rose the best he can. The wind picks up at just the right time and carries it out of sight.

Louis sighs in contentment. “This night is perfect. I love everything about it.”

“ _Je pourrais t’aimer,_ ” Harry murmurs.

“What’s that?” Louis asks.

“I love this night, too,” Harry says.

“I don’t want to leave,” Louis says. And he doesn’t. He loves this city, wants to spend more than three days exploring it. And he wants Harry to show him his other favourite places, and teach him more about flowers and about French. He just wants to live inside this night forever.

“Then don’t,” Harry says. “Stay here with me.”

Louis turns to him, surprised that Harry seems to have read his mind. “Maybe I will,” he says finally. He looks out at the city again, shifting and tilting his head to make room for Harry when he leans against him, chin tucked over his shoulder once more. 

“Maybe I will,” Louis repeats softly. 

Lips brush, feather light, against his cheek in answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
